Racking up penalties, p.1
Racking Up Penalties, page 1
D.M. Page
Racking Up Penalties
Copyright © 2024 by D.M. Page
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Content and Trigger Warnings
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Epilogue
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by D.M. Page
Content and Trigger Warnings
This book contains scenes with unwanted sexual advances and attempted sexual assault. While it doesn’t advance too far, our heroine downplays the events as a defense mechanism.
There is also parental abuse both physical and mental.
If this might trigger you in any way, please take care of yourself and skip this book.
There are lots of open-door sex scenes including multiple partners. There is no MM.
As a personal preference, I use the word come instead of cum despite it being incorrect.
Chapter 1
Last Spring
The roar of celebration hits me the moment I step into the room, the air crackling with elation like a live wire. I can’t help but be swept up in it, the joy infectious, spreading through my veins as I weave through clusters of jubilant hockey fans and university students. It’s as if the victory on the ice has thawed the last remnants of winter, ushering in an early spring to Eastwood University.
I catch glimpses of purple jerseys hugging, high-fiving, their faces flushed with the triumph that only comes from a hard-won game. It’s moments like these that remind me why I love being part of this campus, where every win is celebrated with passion, where every achievement feels like my own.
And then, like a lighthouse cutting through a foggy night, I spot him.
Liam stands across the crowded room, his lean frame relaxed against a wall, a plastic cup in hand. Even from here, I can see the way his tousled blond hair gives him that effortlessly cool look, like he’s just rolled out of bed looking like a cover model.
Without hesitation, my feet carry me toward him, drawn like a moth to a flame. I’ve barely met him at other parties but he always draws my attention.
“Hey, Tessa!” Emma calls out as I pass by, her arm looped around one of her boyfriends, Luka. I throw her a quick grin and a wave, my attention already refocusing on Liam.
My approach must be stealthier than I thought because it’s not until I’m almost upon him that his head turns, those gray eyes finding mine in the crowd. There’s no mistaking the flash of recognition, the subtle lift at the corners of his lips. It’s a look reserved just for me, or so I like to think.
“Hey,” I say, my voice barely rising above the din of conversation and laughter that fills the space. And yet, it’s enough. It always is with Liam.
Liam’s shoulders shift, angling toward me, his posture relaxed. The faintest trace of a cocky grin plays along his lips, that same grin that always manages to kick-start my pulse.
“Looks like someone’s popularity has hit an all-time high,” I tease, nodding towards the cluster of admirers he’s just vacated. “Should I be asking for an autograph?”
“That would be too good for my ego,” he shoots back, the flirtation in his voice as smooth as the ice he skates on.
“Careful, Johnson, or I’ll start believing you’re actually that charming.” I fold my arms, leaning back slightly, challenging him with my smirk.
“Believe it,” he says, stepping closer until the noise of the party dulls into a hum behind his words. “Besides, who else could have scored that winning goal with such style?” His brows arch in mock arrogance.
He’s usually pretty shy but tonight the adrenaline and alcohol must be making him bold.
“Pure luck,” I counter, nudging his side with my elbow. But there’s warmth in my voice, pride laced through the gentle ribbing. I’ve watched enough games to know Liam’s skill on the ice is anything but mere chance.
“Maybe just a little,” he concedes with a laugh, the sound rich and easy. It fills the space between us, wrapping around my heart like a promise of something tender and thrilling.
“You were great out there,” I praise, my laughter mingling with his.
“I wanted to impress you,” he admits, and there’s a twinkle in his eye that tells me he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
For a moment, the world falls away—the music, the chatter, the thrum of celebration—and it’s just Liam and me, trading barbs and grins like we’re the only two people here who matter. There’s comfort in our banter, a shared language that feels both exhilarating and terrifying because every word seems laced with possibility.
“How would you even know I was there?”
He leans in, and his breath is a warm tease against my ear. “Don’t think I didn’t see you cheering from the stands, Tessa. Your enthusiasm might have given me that extra edge.”
“Is that so?” I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face, reveling in our light-hearted dance of words. “I’ll have to charge you for my motivational services next season.”
“Consider it a deal,” he agrees, his eyes locked on mine.
“Look at you, you’re practically a local celebrity now,” I tease, letting the warmth of the moment wrap around me like a safety blanket. Liam’s laughter is a low rumble, an anchor in the cacophony of cheers and music that fills the air.
“Only because of that last-minute goal. But it was a team effort,” he deflects with a shrug, his lean muscles subtly flexing under his shirt. It’s classic Liam, always humble, always thinking of others before himself. “So, what are your plans this summer? Can I expect to see you around campus? Maybe we could go for dinner.”
My smile falters as I tuck a stray lock of red hair behind my ear, the weight of an upcoming absence settling into my words.
“Actually, I won’t be here over the summer.” My voice betrays me, a soft note of regret weaving through the confession. “I’ve got an internship with a fashion label in New York.”
Liam’s reaction is immediate, a flicker of something crossing his features—a blend of surprise and something else I can’t quite place. He recovers quickly, though, his smile returning like the sun after a brief eclipse.
“New York, huh? That’s big news, Tessa.” There’s genuine admiration there, a steady support that anchors me despite the uncertainty that quivers through me. “You’re going to take the fashion world by storm.”
“Thanks, Liam.” I wrap my arms around myself, a small shield against the bittersweet tang of leaving. “I just wish I didn’t have to miss out on all the fun here.”
“Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to tilt my chin up, ensuring I meet his gaze. “We’ll have plenty of fun when you get back. Promise.”
“Okay,” I say softly. It feels like I’m losing something. He wanted to take me out and now I’ll be gone all summer. He will probably find someone else to take out.
The corners of his mouth lift, eyes crinkling with an emotion that sends my heart into an odd somersault. “I can’t wait for you to come back with stories of skyscrapers and runway shows.” His words are heavy with anticipation, and it’s clear he means every one.
Around us, the room buzzes—a hive of celebration—and yet, Liam’s attention never wavers from me. Girls flutter near him like moths to a flame, their giggles piercing the night air, trying to draw him into their orbit. But Liam’s gaze is steadfast, his focus locked on me alone. The realization sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the chilled air sneaking in through the open windows.
“Come on,” he says suddenly, his hand brushing against mine, sending ripples of awareness through my skin. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.”
I nod, eager to escape the overwhelming noise. We weave through groups of jostling teammates and fans, their faces flushed with victory and alcohol.
We slip into a dimly lit hallway, the sounds of celebration muffled as if we’ve stepped into another world. For a moment, we just stand there, taking in the sudden stillness.
“Better?” he asks, and I notice the way his gray eyes search mine, looking for something I’m not sure I can name.
“Much,” I confess, leaning back against the cool wall, grateful for the respite.
Liam steps closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of light in his eyes—like stars caught in a stormy sky. “You’re going to do amazing things in New York, Tessa. I just wish…” He trails off, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he swallows words left unsaid.
“Me too,” I whisper, filling in the silence he’s left behind. There’s a tension between us, one that hums with the potential of uncharted territories. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once.
Of course, Emma ruins the moment. My best friend comes over like a storm pulling me away from Liam before I even have the chance to get his number.
Chapter 2
August
My cleats sink slightly into the ground as I step onto the field, the scent of fresh grass and earth mingling with the sweat and adrenaline that hang palpable in the air. Practice is already a chaotic symphony of shouts, grunts, and the thud of footballs being caught or hitting the ground. There’s an electric energy here, a bond among these players that I recognize from my old team.
“Delaney, get over here and meet the team!” The coach’s voice cuts through the noise as I make my way over. The team falls into a hushed curiosity, their eyes flicking toward me—some intrigued, others openly doubtful. I pull the straps of my helmet tighter, a nervous habit, and nod.
“Tristan Delaney,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
“Welcome to Eastwood. I’m Brett,” One of the guys steps forward to say. He’s clearly a captain.
I turn to face the sea of new faces, feeling the weight of their scrutiny. Each look seems to peel back a layer, trying to see how I will affect their season. My name echoes off introductions and handshakes, some warm and others cool. Tyler Brown’s gaze feels like ice even from a distance. He’s the quarterback I’m replacing but I’m still hoping we can get along. It will make the transition to this new school easier.
“Looking forward to seeing what you’ve got, Delaney.” One of the receivers slaps me on the shoulder, and I can’t help but let a half-grin slip through. It’s full of anticipation.
“Thanks,” I reply, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. “I’m here to impress.”
“Alright, let’s get to it!” Coach claps his hands together, and the team disperses, ready to start their drills.
Sweat mixes with the dirt on my skin as I take my place in line. The scent of fresh grass, a heavy contrast to the musk of exertion, fills my lungs. I’m up for the next drill—a gauntlet of agility ladders and tackle dummies that the coach has laid out like a minefield. It’s designed to test us and weed out the weak. I’m not here to be weeded out.
“Think you’re up for this, Delaney?” One of the linebackers grins at me, his eyes glinting with challenge.
“Absolutely,” I say, flexing my fingers in anticipation.
The whistle blows, and it’s as if my body shifts into autopilot. Feet dancing across the ladders, I show off my speed. A murmur ripples through the team, but it doesn’t sound like admiration. It’s too sharp, too edged.
“Hey, new guy,” someone calls, tossing an extra dummy into my path. “Watch out for that one!”
I knew there would be some hazing when I came here. It’s standard for any team. I can handle it as long as they don’t take it too far.
There’s a reason I came here and nothing is getting in the way of that.
I pivot, barely avoiding the unexpected obstacle, a surge of adrenaline sharpening my focus.
“Nice recovery,” a voice notes from the sidelines, and I recognize the tone—grudging respect.
As I clear the last hurdle, my chest burns with the effort, yet there’s something more potent burning within me, determination.
“Delaney!” Coach barks, motioning me over. “You’re up for passing drills. Show me what you’ve got.”
Nodding, I jog to the quarterback position, feeling the weight of the ball in my hands. This is where I shine, where my accuracy can’t be denied. I drop back, scan, and launch the football in a tight spiral to the waiting receiver. It’s a bullet, cutting through the doubts as cleanly as it slices the air.
“Solid throw,” the coach mutters, and I notice a couple of heads nodding in agreement. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, subtle but undeniable. They’re beginning to see me, not just as the new kid but as their QB1.
“Again,” Coach orders.
And I do, again and again, each pass a statement, each catch a chorus growing louder with the respect I’m earning. Some of these guys might never like me, but they can’t ignore the precision with which I play.
“Keep it up, Delaney,” one of the wide receivers says after snagging another flawless pass from the air. “You might just make a believer out of me.”
“Thanks,” I reply, allowing a small smile, feeling the threads of camaraderie weaving themselves around us, still tenuous but there.
The practice wears on, the sun dipping lower, painting the sky in hues of red. My muscles ache, but it’s a good pain, the kind that comes from working hard in practice.
The whistle pierces the air, a clear signal for the next drill. I jog to my position, feeling the turf beneath my cleats.
“Let’s see if the golden boy can handle a real challenge,” Tyler’s voice slithers into my earshot, laced with enough venom to kill a small animal. His eyes, like shards of glass, cut across the field to where I stand.
Looks like we won’t be friends.
I could retaliate, throw back some biting remark, but I don’t. Instead, I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs, then slowly release it along with the tension Tyler’s trying to ratchet up inside me. Tessa’s face flashes in my mind, the way she’d roll her eyes at such childish provocations, and something akin to a chuckle bubbles inside me.
“Focus, Delaney!” Coach bellows from across the field, snapping me back to reality.
“Got it, Coach!” I call back, grateful for the interruption. I clasp the football, feeling its familiar roughness. This leather in my hands, it’s my response, my retort to every jab and taunt.
“Watch him crumble,” Tyler mutters as I step up.
But the words are just noise, lost in the blend of shouts and whistles. I survey the defense, spotting Tyler’s tense stance from the sidelines. He’s itching for a misstep, a fumble—anything to validate his disdain.
“Down! Set! Hut!” My voice cuts through the tension. The ball snaps into my hands, and muscle memory takes over. Drop back, look off the safety, step up, find the gap. The receiver breaks left, and I launch the ball before Tyler can even blink.
I can almost hear the satisfying hiss of air slicing around the spiraling pigskin, and when it lands squarely in the receiver’s outstretched arms, there’s a moment of pure, unadulterated triumph.
“Nice arm, Delaney!” one of the linemen shouts, a grudging respect in his tone.
“That wasn’t…” Tyler starts, but his voice fades under the slaps on my back and the nods I receive from most guys around.
